


A cake job

by Tat_Tat



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Food Kink, Genderbend, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tat_Tat/pseuds/Tat_Tat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genderbent Flora/ Luke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A cake job

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I wrote this. Have a genderbent Flora.

“We warm the oven up first, it says.” Luke ran his finger under the instruction and turned to the oven dial, twisting it to a toasty three hundred fifty degrees.

Florin glanced at the cookbook as he tied a frilly polka-dotted apron (God knows why the professor owned one) behind his back. He tightened the knot and watched Luke wonderously. “Is it really that easy to make a cake?”

“That's what I overhear women say, "Anyone can bake a cake."” He scratched his chin and ran the ingredients through his mind again. “I'll get the stuff. You can fetch the mixing bowls.”

“The ones on the top shelf?” Florin bit his lip and slowly approached the cabinets.

“Yeah.” Luke looked back over his shoulder while rescuing a flat of eggs from the ice chest. “What's the big de--” His shoulders raised, hearing the clatter of metal bowls rain down and reverberate like a dozen gongs against the tiled floor.

Luke's eyes grew wide over the scene. The sound was so loud it shook and echoed through his body. 

“I'm sorry.” Florin covered his face and curled in on himself.

“It's all right. You're not hurt, right?” Luke set the eggs on the table on his way to the nervous boy. No one would imagine from his quiet demeaner and tendency to flinch that Florin was three years Luke's senior.

“I can't do anything.” Florin's fingers were so tense they appeared to puncture his face. “I'm a klutz. What person in their right mind would want me? I'm useless.”

“Shush shush.” Luke palmed the elder's chin and raised his face towards him, “I'll help you, okay. Calm down.”

“Sure, you can help me, but I'll still muck it up!” At this Luke slapped his hand over Florin's quibbling mouth and dragged him to the kitchen table. “All we have to do is follow this recipe, okay. How can you ruin it with instructions and myself at your side?”

“I could imagine plenty of ways.” Florin sighed.

“Stop imagining.” Luke flicked a finger against his forehead. “Now then,” he said, regarding the recipe to change the subject.

“Beat the butter and sugar until softened...” He measured out both into the biggest bowl. Florin reached in the drawer and handed Luke the professor's scarcly used egg beater. In total, they had seen him use it two times to make duchess potatoes.

Luke turned the crank. His left hand held the handle. He gestured with his chin towards Florin. “Can you hold the bowl?”

Florin stared at his hands, poking his index fingers together. “Um, are you so sure?”

“What harm comes out of steadying a bowl? If any accident were to occur, it would be because of me.” He emphasized this, holding up the egg beater.

“O-okay.” Florin sucked in his breath and held the bowl to the table firmly, his brows knit, still worried he would create a disaster despite Luke's consolation or the logic that it would be impossible to mess up.

He began to relax when the butter was almost soft. “See.” 

“I see.” A smile perked the edges of Florin's lips.

Thirty minutes later, the bater was finished with little trouble. The oven's heat radiated in the kitchen, prompting Luke to take off his sweater and set it on the back of a chair. He rolled up his sleeves before he poured the batter in the cake pans that Florin had greased and floured previously.

It was a simple task but the sight delighted Florin. He had seen Luke less clothed than this, but there was something about his sleeves rolled up, revealing the slight tensing of muscle and the quiet concentration on his face that was nothing he had ever seen before. He had seen Luke concentrate on puzzles, but that involved Luke's brow twisted and his lips puckered out with a determined, slightly annoyed vice. 

He was placid-- _dreamier_. Florin covered his mouth, thinking he had said that aloud.

Luke looked up, taking Florin aback. He stepped back and fell over the bowls he had dropped earlier. “Nothing!” he exclaimed. “Nothing.”

Thankfully, Luke shook his head and went back to baking. He opened the oven and set the two pans on the top rack. There was a brief flash of heat against their faces until the door was closed. The timer set to harken when it would be opened again. It tick-tick-ticked like a tsking mother.

“Ready to lick the bowl?” 

“Ah... yes.” Florin was answering without listening to what Luke was saying. 

Luke dipped his fingers in the mixture and stuck it in his mouth. Florin watched, daydreaming about how childishly he grinned. Only now, at his age, it had a new charm to it--

“What are you gawking for? Try it.” He offered the bowl but still Florin was rigid. “You can't mess up eating, okay.” He took his wrist and forced a heap of batter onto Florin's fingers, then, as if the older boy was a child, directed his hand to his mouth. 

Florin licked his fingers, staring at Luke, feeling his face grow warm and ears burn. He batted at Luke to move away. Luke persisted. His eyes slanted predatory, understanding Florins' timidness. 

“The oven sure makes things hot. Heh heh...” Florin lamely said, a failed attempt to explain the flush not just on his face but all over his body.

Luke enveloped Florin's batter-covered finger with his own mouth. Florin's sprits warmed like caramel. His body fluttered and hardened like spun sugar, and when Luke's knee brushed the front of his pants, he stiffened. 

Florin's backside fell onto the edge of the kitchen table. “W-wait a second.” He bit his lip, searching for excuses. “I'm not good, remember. I fall on my feet--”

Kiss.

“I break thin--”

Kiss.

“I can't coo--”

Kiss.

“I seem to be the most useless man ev-eeeeeeeeeer” He moaned, slowly bucking his hips into Luke's mouth. He briefly boggled. When had Luke undone his trousers? Was he really that caught up in his woe?

Never mind that, the primal part of him whispered, shooing away questions. His hands gripped the edge of the table for support. His legs were shaking and his body was a sagging bag of flour. When he opened his eyes, he found himself on the floor underneath the table, Luke over him. His hand, slathered in lukewarm batter, was working itself over Florin's erection. Luke's mouth descended on him again, licking away the mess he had purposely caused. Florin's eyes rolled to the back of his head. From an upside-down view, he saw the cake steadily rising in the oven window, its scent and their sweat warming the kitchen.

And then he was flipped onto his stomach. The cold floor shocked him, a contrast to the heat blossoming through his body. He shivered, feeling cake batter slither between his cheeks, and whispered, “Yes,” as Luke tasted him there too. 

“M-more. If you don't mind that is,” Florin breathed, whimpering as Luke pulled away.

“I don't mind at all,” Luke purred, fingers sinking into him, brushing against a spot that made Florin see three ovens instead of two before him. He writhed, like a snake on the floor, moaning in-between his whimpers. He cried out in protest as Luke pulling out. He breathed contentment to be filled again, easily conforming to Luke's size in his elation.

“Faster,” Florin begged.

“Wha-- um, you're used to it aleady?” Luke blinked, perplexed, but didn't question it, happy to answer that request. He picked up pace, but was still cautious, no matter how his instincts (or Florin's) persuaded him to ram Florin's derriere.

“Luke...” Florin hitched, his thought falling victim to Luke's motion. “You're... You're really good at this.”

“You're amazing yourself,” Luke returned, beginning to slow down, milking time inside of Florin.

Florin's glazed gaze saw the timer tick away, its rhythm pindrop quiet in constrast to Luke's groans. Just hearing his encouragement made him feel volcanic. He was already molten inside, about to burst any moment. He heard Luke cry louder, and he shuddered into pieces, overflowing in both the literal and illiteral, his body a deflated souffle.

The timer chimed, dragging Luke from Florin's heat to the obnoxious radiation of the oven. He carried the cakes out, clad only in oven mitts, and set them on the table before he returned to Florin.

They and the cakes cooled down.


End file.
